


Tiny Vessels

by PBJellie



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Depression, F/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 04:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/pseuds/PBJellie
Summary: Stan tries to break up, but Wendy has other ideas.





	Tiny Vessels

**Author's Note:**

> Can't sleep so here you go, Stendy drabble. I don't know that I'll write about high school kids in the near future again, but who knows. 
> 
> Enjoy? Or something?
> 
> Tiny Vessels is a Deathcab For Cutie song, but whatever.

“It's not that you're not great. You are.” Wendy stood in front of him, tears pooling in her eyes as he recited the words. He'd practiced giving this speech twice in front of the mirror, then he mouthed it as he lay still in bed. 

“Stan, what are you saying?” He had not prepared for her to respond in the middle of his confession. The rest of his thoughts fled from his mind as Wendy grabbed at his hands. 

The physical contact hurt.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please don't do this.” 

“Don't do what, Stanley?” She used his full name. He recoiled, pulling his hands out of hers. The warmth of his pockets wasn't the same. 

“I'm trying to break up. I break up, Wendy.” 

“Why? Why do you break up?” Wendy wasn't crying, the water seemed to be dammed at her eyelashes. 

“I can't do this. I fucking can't.” Stan turned away, trying to walk to his truck. Her grip was on his arm, holding him in place. She was strong, or he was weak. Maybe it was both. He wasn't sure.

“What can't you do, babe? Why won't you talk to me?” Her voice sounded sweet. The same tone that she used during late night conversations. Conversations where he whined into the phone about lack of connection, but generally skirted around the soul crushing alienation in his everyday life. She'd sing song on the other end, chanting that it'd be okay, that he'd feel better. He hadn't felt better yet. Seven years and he carried around the same tired, empty feeling.

He was a hollow shell of a person, and Wendy deserved better. 

“You're making this harder than it needs to be.” He wasn't crying. It struck him that he should feel bad, but he didn't. He didn't feel much of anything. 

“This doesn't even need to happen. We are happy together.” He wasn't looking at her. He couldn't. 

“I'm not happy. I can't remember the last time I was happy.” He could, though. He and Kyle had played Mario Kart until the sun came up, wearing Terrance and Phillip pajamas that were too small for their gangly bodies. The laughter came easily. It felt nice to just be near Kyle. There were no worries for a blissful night. Just two super best friends spending time together. 

That was two and a half years ago, the summer before high school had started. Stan had been excited for the change. He thought that maybe, just maybe, the new school and schedule would pry him free of the funk he lived in. He was optimistic.

His optimism was wrong. 

“Oh, honey,” She turned him so they were looking face to face. The tears still hadn't spilled onto her cheeks. “Stan, we agreed to talk when you started feeling this way.”

“I'm talking. This is me talking.” He tried, and failed, to jerk out of her grip. 

“This is you shutting me out. Don't delude yourself into thinking this stunt is anything else.” She broke out S.A.T. Words when she was upset. Wendy called Bebe a shrew when they wore the same dress to homecoming. 

“I can't do this. It's fake. Everything is fake.” By the time he had sounded the first hard k, Wendy had wrapped him in a hug. Her head was tucked under his chin, wavy black hair draped onto his red jacket. He remembered liking the flowery scent of her shampoo. Today it just smelled synthetic, an imitation of what flowers were.

“Stan, I love you.” Her fingers pressed into his lower back. He didn't deserve to have her arms around him. He couldn't fully appreciate her warmth.

“It's too hard,” his voice was flat as he stared out at the ice on Stark's Pond. He supposed it was cold. Wendy was wearing a scarf, but to be honest he didn't pay too much attention to the weather. 

“All things worth doing are. We've talked about this.” They had. Stan vaguely remembered at least a dozen conversations along these lines. 

“Wendy,” the statement came out as an exasperated sigh.

“Stanley,” she countered. “You can't just shut out the world when you feel like this.” 

Like she knew what it felt like for her life to be rendered meaningless. Wendy was full of purpose, jumping from one completed task to the next thing where she would surly be successful. They were entirely different people. They lived in two separate worlds. 

“Talk to me,” her arms were removed. She could look straight into his soul. There was no use in trying to hide from her omnipotence. She wasn't crying though. Wendy rarely cried.

“I don't know what to say,” which wasn't a lie. He didn't. He had a hard time articulating his feelings. Wendy knew that. Everyone knew that. Even his father could remember it when plastered. Common knowledge among the town was that Stanley was sad and couldn't tell you why. 

“We're not breaking up, okay? Not like this.” She nodded as she spoke. Her head kept bobbing up and down until he was mimicking her. 

“We're not breaking up.” 

“Anything else?” She was confident again, pulling her thick hair off of her neck. There was no sign of the tears that had threatened to fall just minutes earlier. He was silent as she grabbed his hand again, pulling him in the direction of his father's truck. 

“No, nothing else.” Wendy was the one to give him direction. She had never lead him astray. 

He decided to follow her.


End file.
